Back in New York in the 90s and 2000s, when I worked on internet-y, music-y things, there was a really likable guy who I’d see out every now and then. He seemed kind of bookish, but I could tell that was only part of the picture. He always looked like he’d had a few too many the night before but was still fully ready to talk about Faulkner, or baseball, or whatever, the next morning. Also, he played older than he was. His shirt was never tucked in. He wore horn rimmed glasses. He seemed OK with a little bit of a gut. He had a warm smile and a great laugh. His nose always sounded stuffed. I heard he was from Minnesota and that he was the lead singer in a hardcore band that wrote clever -- maybe too clever -- songs. The band was called Lifter Puller and the guy was called Craig Finn.

I share the backstory more as disclosure than name-dropping. I’m not objective here. I’ve always liked Craig Finn. He’s undoubtedly a great guy to have at a poker table. I bet he’s a great guy for most occasions. But he was just a regular, smart guy with an internet gig and a band as a side thing. Eventually, I saw Lifter Puller play out one night and was happy I did. There Craig was, a real Clark Kent on stage. He had the superpower of being somewhat literary, a lot of fun, and oddly tuneful in spite of the limitations of his voice and the din of hardcore. It was a fun night. I remember it clearly. But, there were a lot of fun nights out back then, so I didn’t think much of Craig or Lifter Puller for a while.

In 2004, though, I’d heard Craig had a new band. And this time, he’d traded in hardcore for something between AC/DC and Thin Lizzy. I heard that the clever singer had upgraded his one liners. In fact, I heard that he was singing unforgettable three minute short stories. I heard all the people that looked and sounded like me talking about this band, The Hold Steady. When I saw The Hold Steady soon thereafter, everything I had heard and everything I had remembered were true. Only this time, he wasn’t Clark Kent. He was Superman.

To be clear, I am not a card carrying Hold Steady devotee. I was all in for the beginning but then checked out, avoiding the Pitchfork drool and the band’s eventual regression. But to see and hear those first two albums was to once again believe in the hustle, the sweat, the intelligence, the fun and the payoff of New York City after 9/11. The Strokes and Yeah Yeah Yeahs were not exactly party bands. And The Rapture and LCD Soundsystem were the party bands for the cool kids. But, The Hold Steady were the party band for the young professionals and armchair intellectuals. And, in New York, that’s a pretty big crowd.

By 2010 and “Heaven is Wherever,” I’d moved out of New York and, honestly, lost sight of The Hold Steady. But I never lost interest in the Clark Kent guy with the glasses and the stuffy-nosed voice. So, when Craig Finn embarked on a middle-aged solo career, I was listening.

The early attempts were modest and restrained. Craig was always a writer first, singer next and, vaguely, finally a musician. But he was smart, and evidently committed to learning. So, I had faith that his music would get somewhere, someday. “I Need a New War” mostly validated my faith. His fourth solo album -- and the third of a trio that holds together thematically (according to Finn) -- is the one wherein his observations get sharper, but less sarcastic. He keeps his own cleverness at bay while he develops stories and characters that fit somewhere between Raymond Carver and “Tangled Up in Blue.” 

While Dylan is an easy comparison, musically, “I Need a New War” actually rests somewhere between the slower parts of “Born to Run” and early Casio Leonard Cohen. There are horns arrangements, including saxophone solos, which evoke Clarence Clemons on downers. But there are also a number of waltz tracks with lovely backing vocals courtesy of Annie Nero, who echoes Craig Finn one beat behind in the way that Jennifer Warnes did for Leonard Cohen. The album is less metaphorical than Dylan. Less heroic than Bruce. And less spiritual than Leonard Cohen. But it makes stops in each of those neighborhoods.

Much credit is surely owed to Producer and multi-instrumentalist, Josh Kaufman, who did stand out work for Hiss Golden Messenger, and many other bands. On his earlier solo albums, Finn had trouble carrying a verse to a chorus. There were rarely any bridges and, as a result, the only thing keeping the songs from monotony were vocal intonation and narrative. Here, while the songs are not necessarily complex, Finn and Kaufman seem to know when they’ve musically exhausted something. They will layer in backing vocals or harmonica later in songs even when the verses and choruses are built the same. These little decorations make a big difference. 

“Magic Marker, for instance, is a simple Soul song, anchored by some staccato Hammond organ. It is an effect that could grow tiresome and weigh down the lyrics. But Finn drops in horns and strings in the back half and, suddenly, the context has shifted such that, when he says the words “pistol whipped,” you hurt badly.

“A Bathtub in the Kitchen” experiments with a downbeat synthesizer and an odd, cheap rhythm that sounds like it came with a Casio. Both the instruments and the backing vocals evoke 80s Leonard Cohen. But, as amazing as Cohen was, he never wrote a verse like:

Francis, I was lying when I said I hadn't heard what happened

I probably heard later on the very same day it went down

That’s the funny thing about people moving into big cities

Spend so much time trying to turn it into their tiny town

Francis, is there someway to help that's not just handing you money?

There's something unsaid in the way that you say it’s your health

Whatever happened to the elegant guy you used to always bring to the Parkside?

Seems like he'd be in a better position to help

I’m honestly not sure if heartache, sympathy and shame have even been rendered so plainly in a Rock song.

“Grant at Galena” is one of several “three / three” time tracks. It is also the one that introduces the refrain from the title -- “I Need a New War.” It’s an evocative metaphor, for sure. But, at nearly six minutes long, Finn risks the limitations of his voice and his melodies. “Desolation Row,” this is not. But, in one of the many surprising tricks of the album, the singer, buoyed by Annie Nero’s repeat of “I need a new war,” finds a fifth gear of hope to close the song.

“Anne Marie & Shane” closes the album with some jazzy watercolors that resemble the closing of “Jungleland” from “Born to Run.” Intentional or not, it’s an effective and apt finale. Finn’s characters, like those in “Jungleland,” seem to wind up wounded, not even dead. 

Up and down the aisles at the liquor store

Their bodies slump over while their spirits soar

That's how the legends get made

Anne Marie came back on a bus on her own

Moved into the basement of her step-father's home

If I were you, I wouldn't even ask about Shane

Some things she didn't wanna say

“I Need a New War” really is a triumph. No, it’s not “Born to Run.” But I find it as gratifying beginning to end as, say, Cohen’s “Various Positions.” It’s great literature. It’s great storytelling. It’s great acting. And it’s great playing. The songs are not uniformly compelling purely on the basis of the music, but they are a genuine master class in a certain middle-aged poignant weariness. “I Need a New War” replaces the drunk, Brooklyn gusto of The Hold Steady with an Upstate sobriety and poignancy. All in, I think it’s a pretty fair trade.

by Matty Wishnow